I grew up in San Francisco in the 1970s. We were part of a church that belonged to the California Jesus movement.

It's just so out of control. Life, I mean. The way it flies off in all these different directions without your permission.

We'd need a miracle," he says. "A real one. Do you think those happen anymore?

. . .There are certain people who come into your life, and leave a mark. . . Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless.

It makes me think of Lazarus. He must have had those shadows after his miracle. You don't spend time in the tomb without it changing you, and everyone who was waiting for you to come out.

I'm still going to love you, always. And in the rock-paper-scissors of life, love is rock. fear, anger, everthing else...no contest.

The Lord doesn't give a person more than he knows they can bear.